


a certain kind of peace

by flibbityflob



Series: Dorogrid Week [3]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst With A Bittersweet Ending, F/F, and my dorothea has severe ptsd agenda, me pushing my disabled ingrid agenda, post crimson flower
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-26
Updated: 2020-05-26
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:14:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24391888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flibbityflob/pseuds/flibbityflob
Summary: the great war of Unification, led under the strength of emperor Edelgard II, took more from some than from others. healing is hard. healing is always hard, and the trauma of war weighs heavy on some.or, somehow the war was the easy part.
Relationships: Dorothea Arnault/Ingrid Brandl Galatea
Series: Dorogrid Week [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1761280
Comments: 1
Kudos: 23





	a certain kind of peace

**Author's Note:**

> prompt - Break a vase, and the love that reassembles the fragments is stronger than that love which took its symmetry for granted when it was whole
> 
> i have this thing where i decided edelgard isnt the first emperor called edelgard and i just refuse to change that ever
> 
> also this is both part 1 and part 3 of an au i'm writing and part 2 is gonna be dorogrid week day 7 ;)

Somehow, the war was over. Edelgard, Emperor of Fódlan, had laid waste to those who opposed her, and there was no opposition to her rule. They had won. Five long, long years had passed. Bloody, exhausting, violent years, that had sapped her of her youth and her joy. The final battle, against the horrifying monster that had once been the archbishop, it had somehow been even more traumatising than everything that had gone before. And now she was here, sitting by Ingrid’s bedside as she battled off a fever. Ingrid’s arm, severed in part from a particularly vicious attack from Cyril’s axe, before Ingrid managed to kill him in turn, and in part from the Immaculate One’s flames. How she managed to keep fighting with her weak arm was a mystery to her, and how she’d managed to stop herself from collapsing was another mystery instantly. All Dorothea could do was sit by her bedside and pray to a Goddess that didn’t exist to heal her quickly. 

It had been three days. Three days since they’d made their base in the smoking ruins of the destroyed Fhirdiad, and in the three days Ingrid’s fever had been monitored, she had made the signs of initial recovery, but was still in the throws of illness. It was horrid to watch, and yet all she could do was watch. That kind of injury was not uncommon in war, she’d seen it in the infirmary before, but seeing it on someone she loved as she did Ingrid, it shocked her as if she was a teenage girl once more. Three days was too long, far too long, to sit by Ingrid’s bedside, but she had to. She couldn’t leave her alone, not when her slumber could break at any moment. The hours passed, and she watched Ingrid sleep, read to her, stroked her hair. Even as the fever broke, as her skin cooled and her breath began to sound less laboured, she slept.

And then, by some miracle, her eyes began to flutter open. Ingrid’s beautiful green eyes were so often a comfort to her, and they had never been as much of a relief to her as they were in this moment.

“Dorothea?” She croaked, through the haze of pain that clearly rippled through her body at the effort.

“Shush, my love, it’s alright. Don’t exert yourself too much.”

“Wh- what happened? Your face, Dot?” 

Ah. Her face. She’d taken some horrid scratches from the dagger of a particularly desperate Pegasus Knight, who’d been faster and more desperate than her.

“Nothing that isn’t healed. Though I think my career is over.”

She coughed, then, and looked down at where her arm once was, covered in bandages and the signs of truly effective healing magic.

“Probably as not as over as mine.” She said, a tired smile on her face. “It’s really gone, isn’t it.” More a statement, than a question.

“You’re a war hero, my love. The emperor told me herself, you’re a hero. One of her best and brightest generals, who lost her arm defending her from one of Rhea’s soldiers.”

“I don’t have an arm any more. My sword arm.” She was almost numb, her eyes hazy and sad, full of pain.

“The war is over, my darling. My darling, darling Ingrid. It’s over, and you don’t need to worry any more. It’s over.”

“How am I supposed to serve Her Majesty without my sword arm, Dot?”

“You don’t. It’s over. Edie won’t ask you to do anything you can’t do, not now, not ever.”

“It’s all I’ve ever wanted, Dot. It’s all I’ve ever wanted, to serve. I’ve spent five long years desperate to be her knight.”

“Oh, Inga.” She said, soft, stroking her lover’s hair. The few scars on her face were deep, and made her look so very handsome. Dorothea adored her. Wholly, completely, and utterly. “It’s going to be okay, Inga. I promise.”

“You’re so beautiful, Dot. I love you, I love you so much. How am I supposed to protect you like I’m meant to, when my arm is gone.”

“Oh, Inga, my love. Please, don’t worry about it. Not now, not yet, not ever. You don’t need to protect me, love.”

“I have to, Dot. It’s important I protect you, you’re the most important person to me.”

“I know, darling. I know. But you mustn't stress yourself, you’re still recovering. Nobody needs to protect anyone yet, love. Nobody needs to protect me. The war is over, you can rest.”

“But, I-”

“No, no. Go back to sleep, my love. I’ll be here when you wake up. I promise.”

“I-”

“No. Go to sleep, love.” Dorothea said, and began to stroke her hair once more, all affection and care and love, and Ingrid very quickly began to soften, falling back into sleep.

* * *

Dorothea’s pleasures in life were simple, really. Music, art, and the comfort of a simple, relaxing cup of tea. She was fond of sharing them with Ingrid, too, even if her ear for music was abysmal, her artistic preferences could not have been more different from Dorothea’s, and they preferred vastly different kinds of tea. Yet they shared tea once a week. Ingrid had moved into a much larger room, still recuperating from the fever and the loss of limb, and so Dorothea took it upon herself to bring tea to her lover, to share.

Ingrid’s smile was soft, and sad, and gentle, when she stepped in, and Dorothea tried to resist the desperate urge her eyes felt to flicker down to where her lover’s arm once was. The resignation in Ingrid’s eyes was more crushing than the amputation, or the fever, or the look of her broken body lying on the ground. Her lover’s spirit was broken, and it was devastating to see. Dorothea put down the tea table she’d brought with her, and sat down on the bed next to Ingrid, stroking her hair gently, before pouring a cup of chamomile up for her, and one for herself, too. Ingrid moved the remnants of her arm, the phantom limb failing to grasp onto the cup. She swore, then, softly and furiously, and tried to slam her right arm into the table, tears springing up in her green eyes.

“I can’t hold a teacup with my left hand.” She said, and sighed softly, already so utterly drained, miserable, and in a kind of agony Dorothea couldn’t even become to understand. “I can’t be a knight, I can’t hold a knife and fork, and I can’t hold a fucking teacup.”

“You saved me, love. And I promise, I’ll be here to help you. You aren’t going to get better overnight. There are solutions, you know? You may not grow your arm back, but there are alternatives. Prosthetics, magic, all sorts. You have the favour of Her Majesty the Emperor, my love. You’ll have help.”

“I don’t want help, Dot. I want my arm back.”

“Ingrid. That’s not how the world works. I’m so sorry, and I wish it wasn’t, but it is. I wish you hadn’t had to kill Dimitri, I wish we hadn’t had to go to war in the first place. But it did.”

“And I hate it, I hate all of this.”

“I know, Inga! I know you do, but you’re going to need to eat, and drink, and walk! One day, you’ll ride again, and hold your sword again, just not in the same way as you did before.”

Ingrid shattered. In an instant, the calm mask she’d been keeping on disintegrated, tears streaming down her face, all the pain she’d been bottling up over the last week and a half crashing down, like a wave hitting the shore. She sobbed, and sobbed, and Dorothea held her, the lifeline Ingrid didn’t even realise she needed.

* * *

The sky of the coast near Southern Adrestia were beautiful. There were stories and songs about summer at the coast, and they did have a point. The air was clear, and smelled of salt, and they were under the Emperor’s care, and there was nothing to worry them. It had been five long years of war, and finally they were at peace. Dorothea’s night terrors were rivalled in their intensity only by her wife (her wife, she thought, still in disbelief at their wedding, vows exchanged on a beach at night, only a few friends in their company). She wasn’t a soldier, and whilst adjusting to peace was hard for her, it was impossible for Ingrid. The beachside home had been Edelgard’s idea, to rest and find peace, with no urgency to return. 

She stood, leaning on the balcony that overlook the ocean, the sun already high in the sky, and took in the blissful sounds of peace. The town hadn’t been hit hard by the war, not like the north had, and it was beautiful. Dorothea was in love with the place. She heard the door open behind her, but didn’t turn her head. The familiar sound of her wife walking over, dragging her bad leg behind her was comforting, and Ingrid came to lean on the railing next to her, her blonde hair messy and windswept, her prosthetic in hand.

“Would you mind helping me put it on, love?” She said, her voice tired, handing the limb over to her wife. Her wedding ring glinted in the sun, and Dorothea looked over to her, her eyes full of love. 

“Of course, darling. Come here.” She beckoned Ingrid over, kissing the scarred stump and attaching her prosthetic on, full of reverence and love. “How are you feeling today?”

“Bad.”

“I assumed that much, sweetheart, but… bad for me, or bad for you?”

“Bad for you. It just hurts, like always.”

“I know, love. I know.”

“Has Edelgard written to you recently?”

“No, not in a while. Why, is something on your mind?”

“Oh, no. No, I just. I just wondered, that’s all.”

“Tell me, sweetheart.”

“I… Before we left, we were discussing a prosthetic imbued with some kind of magic. I honestly don’t understand it too much, but it might have been able to help me ride. I just. I wondered if she had any news.”

“She would have told me, I promise. She’s the Emperor of Fódlan, my love, I’m sure she’s just busy. When we return to Enbarr, we’ll talk to her as soon as possible. She said she had some plans for our futures, that sort of thing.”

“Tell her that I’m not ready, not yet.”

“I don’t think she’d ask you to do anything you weren’t ready for.”

“She might.”

“Ingrid.” She said, and took Ingrid’s warm, whole hand in her own. “My love, you know she won’t.” She paused, just for a second, pressing a kiss to her shoulder. “You’re my wife, and I’ll stop her doing anything stupid. If you want to spend the rest of your life here, then I’ll be here with you.”

“I don’t. I want to fulfil my dream, Dot, I want to be a knight. A real knight, not just some facsimile.”

“Then fuck it, Ingrid. You’ll do it. If we have to fight tooth and nail to make it happen, then we do that.”

She smiled sadly, and sighed gently, and then looked over at her wife with love in her eyes. “And you know I’ll do the same for you. Whatever your dream is, my love, I want to help you.”

“One day. One day, Ingrid, you will achieve all you’ve ever wanted.”

Ingrid smiled, and perhaps it was the light of the sun, or the fact she was sleeping better nowadays, but there was more of an ease in her eyes.

“Whatever your dream becomes, now, I want to make it happen for you.”

“I’ve already gotten the best dream in the world. My wonderful, incredible wife.”

* * *

When the legends of the United Adrestian Empire told of the Great General Ingrid Galatea, her defection from her ancestral home of Faerghus and her exploits during the Unification War, they spoke only of her bravery. Few spoke of the sacrifices she’d made as a warrior, and even fewer spoke of the love she shared with the Mittlefrank Opera’s great diva, Dorothea Arnault, the Countess Galatea. Despite the loss of her arm in Imperial Year 1186, she served as the commander of the first ever Imperial Pegasus Knight Unit, a unit that still serves the Empire to this day. Her wife’s exploits too were sung throughout the land, not just as one of the greatest stars the Mittlefrank Opera Company ever knew, but also as an ardent reformer of education policy, leading the implementation of a system of universal free education. For the couple, however, it was not the lasting reforms and changes they made to Fódlan that were their greatest prides, but instead the happy home they created. Their marriage was said to be utterly loving, and the home they created in the south of Adrestia was filled with a number of children, all of whom were adored by their parents.


End file.
